hell is empty and all the devils are here
by sexyvanillatiger
Summary: "Why do you keep calling me Jake."; Adam is thrown out of the Cage—but instead of ending up home, he gets dumped in "The French Mistake" 'verse; Jensen Ackles/Misha Collins/Adam Milligan. Slash.


Michael doesn't exactly just let him go. He clings to Adam when the first strains of being pulled out of the locked cage begin to tear at the seams of his soul the way they tear into the cooked sinews of his muscles. He screams but it's muted, muffled by the grace of an archangel stifling him, anchoring him to Hell. His fingers feel like they're breaking with the force it takes to hold onto whatever is pulling him out, and with one final tug, he's thrust up, thrown hard enough to break through the crust of the earth and land hard on his back. Dirt scatters and falls like a storm around him, drowning him. A tree looms in the night sky overhead. The last thing Adam remembers is darkness.

* * *

><p>"Jake? C'mon, you act like you're dead or something. This is the last time I'm gonna try and wake you up, then I'm sending Misha."<p>

"Wh—...what...?" Adam shuts his eyes tight because his entire body hurts like he was tossed through a couple brick walls. For all that he fought to get out of the Cage, he may as well have been. He cringes with the last memories of his untimely damnation, and whoever's hand is resting gently on the junction between his neck and his shoulder tightens its hold and the voice above him becomes immediately concerned.

"Jake? Hey, talk to me. Bad dream? C'mon, let's get you out of bed. Jesus, did you shrink overnight?" Dean's warm laughter fills the room and Adam frowns.

"Who's Jake?"

Both of them stop. Well, Dean stops and Adam just lays there limply in his grasp. A tense moment passes before Dean laughs again, and Adam can feel it this time. Anger swells in him, but he's too exhausted to act on it.

"Good one. Come on, you have to wake up sometime. Sudden amnesia isn't going to change that."

"Did you wake the boy?"

"Yeah. He's even more boyish than he was yesterday."

Another familiar voice swirls in Adam's ears and he closes his eyes tighter. "Wait, wait," he gasps, grasping his aching head in one hand and Dean's shirt in the other. "How long have I been here?"

"Jake...are you feeling alright? Misha, can you get him some...?"

"We're out of the light stuff. We've got some oxycontin leftover from the..."

"Yeah, yeah, fine, just go get him something. Jake, you're gonna have to eat first."

"Why do you keep calling me Jake." It's not a question. Adam is in far too much pain to be bothered with trivial inquiries. No, it's a very firm statement that means nothing less than _if you call me Adam one more time, _I'll _send you to Hell myself._ He pushes away from Dean and opens his eyes a little bit. The light is blinding, but he doesn't know why he should expect anything less. The cage had little light, and he'd been there long enough to get used to it. "Dean," he breathes, the curling claws of animosity tightening in his gut.

Dean frowns. Something must be wrong with him. Come to think of it, Dean doesn't look much like _Dean_. Where are the weathered overtones? The trademark mannerisms? Sam? Everything is wrong. This looks more like a bedroom which he knows his brothers don't have. It's too nice to be Bobby's. There must be unexpected connections but something about the room feels less like any sort of domain into which a hunter would set foot, let alone Dean who can't stomach the _thought_ of dragging anymore innocents into this life. It feels more like something Adam would've once called a home.

"Here. Water, pills, toast; is he okay?"

"He just called me Dean."

A handsome man (_Cas_, his mind supplies uselessly, his tongue dead weight in his mouth) gives him a concerned frown. "Jake? It's us. Misha and Jensen. Did you...hit your head or something?"

Adam snorts and immediately regrets it, his entire body throbbing in protest. "Probably."

The two men exchange a glance and Dean sets Adam back down against the bed. "Here, take this," one pill is pushed into his hand, "this," a glass of water into the other, "and eat this before you get sick." A plate of toast is set on his lap.

"Where are we?"

"Home."

"Thought so."

Cas smiles and Adam finds it fitting that he would escape only to end up with his brother and his brother's butt-buddy in their fittingly-established _home_. He sits up enough to take a sip without spilling the water all over himself, and it becomes difficult to swallow when he realizes that two sets of eyes are staring him down.

"Um...where's Sam?" he asks tentatively, and flinches when Cas drops his head into one hand. He looks nervous. "Guys?" He turns to look at Dean, who looks no better. "What's going on?"

"Jake...I don't know what you're doing, but you need to quit. Right now. This really isn't funny."

"My _name_ isn't _Jake_. It's _Adam_. Fucking christ, what the hell is going on? Where are we? And who the fuck are you?" He's cast the toast aside and is sitting up, ready to make a dash for it because things are going south and the last southbound trip he took ended with him sandwiched between two very aggressive angels.

Dean nods and shrugs his shoulders up helplessly. "My name isn't Dean. It's Jensen. This is Misha. We're at home. In Los Angeles. And we...we're your partners."

"_Lovers_," Misha emphasizes. Dean—no—Jensen laughs fondly and nods. Adam just gawks, then laughs along with him.

"Dude, you're my...you're my _brother_. I'm not even _gay_." Something Jensen's eyes changes; hurt, Adam realizes, because he's seen that look a few very unfortunate times in his life. Both of the men before him. Looking very hurt. "Sorry," he amends quickly, reaching up to pop his knuckles or play with his hair or do something to avert their rejected gazes but every cell in his body screams in response, a heavy throb echoing through him and Adam gasps weakly, remembering that he should be angry with them. They're the reason he was in hell in the first place.

Something wars with him within. _No_, it says. _Dean Winchester is the reason you were in Hell. Castiel is the reason you were in Hell. Jensen and Misha are in no way affiliated to your unfortunate circumstance, are they?_ Some crazy part of him laughs along like it's true. He closes his eyes. A dizzy spell overtakes him. For a moment, it doesn't matter who they are. "Guys," he groans, body sagging as he falls back into an uncomfortable warmth. He prays quietly and reflexively that he's not falling.

* * *

><p>"We need to get him to a doctor or something."<p>

"You're sure he's not just messing with you? I mean, come on. Just, let him have his fun. This'll run its course."

"He called me Dean. He called Misha Cas. He asked for Sam. Jared, this isn't just...he was _serious_."

"Guys, right now, we just need to make sure that he's okay. You don't just pass out in the middle of a conversation for no reason."

"You gave him painkillers, right? Maybe it's," the third voice begins, trailing off quietly.

"He'd _just_ taken them."

"How long has it been since he's eaten."

"Not too long."

A heavy sigh seems to suffocate the room. Adam can almost feel someone shrugging their shoulders. "I hate to say it, guys. Maybe you're baby boy's just _broken_."

"Shut up. That's not funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny, Jensen. I'm...just...you know what I think? I think you should just let this finish itself. Jake's gonna be fine. Just fine."

Adam flirts with the idea of sitting up on his own, but in the end, he just raises a hand and waits for somebody to notice. When they do, when he feels someone's skin brushing his, he grabs hold and pulls himself upright. There's a startled noise and he opens his eyes to see Misha right there, looking very close to wrapping his arms around him and Adam shrinks away a little bit. He looks down at himself, recalling that he had failed to assess the damage the last time he was awake.

He's certain that there are bruises and cracked ribs beneath the ratty, old t-shirt and thin, oversized pajamas he's wearing. He gently prods himself and hisses, hasty to abandon that endeavor. "Who's that?" He nods towards Sam, knowing that he'll be corrected if he just assumes the way he did with Dean and Cas.

"It's me. Jared." This man seems to have a little less patience, but he's put on a steady mask like the others. "Feeling alright?"

"I feel like shit."

Jared looks taken aback for about all of two seconds before he clears his throat, puts his game face back on and straightens up. "Right."

It doesn't take much more for Adam to figure out that that wasn't something this Jake person would have said. "Sorry," he mumbles, feeling like he's apologized one or two too many times in the last twenty-four hours. He swings his legs over the edge of the mattress, fingers feeling like they're breaking with the gentle force with which he clings to the bed. He doesn't bother with trying to stand just yet. Everything feels like it might shatter if he takes this too fast.

"Maybe you should just...lay down," Jensen begins slowly, a hesitant hand on Adam's shoulder.

"Just...let me try this, first," and where rising wasn't even a pipe dream just a second ago, he feels like he should prove something, so he grips the headboard with a death grip that pales his knuckles until they resemble the bleach of his bones. It takes a lot of struggling and a lot of shaking to get to his feet, and from there, it goes downhill. South into Misha's waiting grasp.

"No more. Just lay down. You're gonna be fine. Jensen, get the car ready, we're taking him to the hospital."

"_Don't_," Adam sobs, gripping Misha like a lifeline. "Please."

Everybody in the room is frozen. Adam's world spins but he holds on. "Alright," someone says, and Adam smiles. His cheeks feel like they're cracking. It takes a moment but he realizes that it's his first smile in ages.

"Thanks."

* * *

><p>"So...you're not Jake." Jensen looks very skeptical, and Adam has no doubt that this Jared character has been discussing this with him and Misha while he'd been sleeping.<p>

"No. For the last time, and I swear to God, the _last_ time, I'm _Adam_. _Milligan_. Bastard son of John Winchester, only child of Kate Milligan, victim in the shit storm you and—well, fuck. Dean and Sam and John brought with them."

Jensen shakes his head. "That's not possible. See, that's just a TV show."

Adam rolls his eyes because he's been listening to that same line for an hour and a half. Misha is out retrieving a copy of the DVD as they speak, because Adam is not one to swim towards the gullible shore of the stream. "No, _that's my life_."

"How'd you get out of Hell."

"Something pulled me."

"_What_—okay. Fine. Something pulled you. _Pulled_ you?"

"Yes, literally pulled me and threw me out of Hell. I landed on my back. It hurt like...well, it hurt a little bit less than Hell." Adam smiles at his little pun.

Jensen smiles a little bit too, and his hand twitches on his side of the table. Adam almost gives into the temptation to give him the small comfort of holding his hand, just because he can see very plainly that it's what Jensen wants to do. He's just not sure he can, and right now, it's not worth the risk. However much Jensen assures him that they're lovers, he can see nothing but his brother. And though they lack a childhood together or any common ground on which to claim the relationship of _brothers_, he still feels obligated to oblige by the rules of blood. The rules of _strangers._

So no hand holding. Not until the guilt weighs equal to the evidence of this reality around him. Instead, he shifts unsteadily in his chair and his head swims. The painkiller, he believes, is the reason he's not so disturbed by this. Maybe. It most certainly is the reason the world feels so light on his shoulders. Or maybe the sudden lack of Hell's pressure around him is making him feel weightless.

Misha appears nothing short of victorious when he bursts through the door. "Got 'em. Seasons four and five. Come on, living room, boys."

* * *

><p>Adam shakes his head in disbelief, trembling slightly when Misha finally turns the TV off. He can remember all of it, from the memories of being eaten to the betrayal of the angels to Michael's threats to the point of his concession. "Guys, that...that was my life. My life is on a television show. What. The fuck. <em>What the actual fuck<em>?" He looks between them nervously, shaking, dizzier than he remembers being earlier this morning.

He tries to stand, decides against it and sinks into the couch shaking his head and mumbling to himself that he's real, he's Adam Milligan and he doesn't know how the fuck he got on TV but there he is and here he is and a brief thought crosses his mind. Where else is he?

"Hey, hey, it's okay, it's okay, shhhhh." Two pairs of arms wrap around him and he lets them. They're comforting in a way that he hasn't known since his mother went missing. He closes his eyes and the backs of his lids are warmed by hot tears.

"What in the everliving Hell is going on?"

* * *

><p>"How's 'Adam' doing?"<p>

Jensen shrugs weakly and Jared pushes his coffee closer to him. "Still Adam. I don't know what to tell you. He's _not_ Jake at all. I don't know how, but...he just put Jake away. He really is...just...Adam."

Jared nods and looks down at the table. "Jake wouldn't carry a joke this far, anyways. How long has it been?"

"Almost a week. Misha's at his wit's end."

"If you need someone to entertain Adam so you two can have some stress-relieving, vigorous sex, Genevieve and I are more than happy to show him around Vancouver for a few days."

Jensen smiles appreciatively and shrugs. "He's opening up. He lets us touch him, now. Hugs and stuff." He hesitates. "I miss him."

Jared nods and has no idea what to say. After a beat, he smiles and puts his hands up as though inviting God into the conversation. "You'll get him back.

* * *

><p>"You got everything?" Misha is hovering like a mother hen, arms crossed and lips tight. He casts a glance a Jensen, who shrugs and tries to make him feel better with a smile. Misha's tense shoulders drop a little bit and they both take a moment to breathe. Adam's laughter is like food dye swirling in the warm water of their happiness.<p>

"What is _this_?"

Jensen looks up, and Misha's laughing all of the sudden, as well. "Jensen's portfolio."

"His _what_?"

"His modeling portfolio."

Jensen flushes bright red and rolls his eyes as though the two of them are acting like children. Adam is flipping through the pictures, laughing like it's hilarious and accepting easily Misha's arm around his shoulder.

"Shouldn't you be, I don't know, packing? You're going out of the country for about a week—"

"—half a week. Calm down," Adam grumbles, and Dean scowls. Adam has been nothing but antagonizing for the past thirty-six hours, and as patient a man as Jensen considers himself, he's more than ready to say goodbye at the airport.

"Just get your stuff together and come on."

* * *

><p>Jensen cannot put into words how much he misses Jake. It's heavy, how much he realizes it when it really hits him. The similarities between Adam and Jake are like fine, single points on an erratic, poorly-plotted graph. To put it plainly, they are few and far between.<p>

And he couldn't be more thankful to Jared if he mailed his real lover back to them by the end of half a week's time. The push of his hips is a little bit sloppier than usual and a little bit more desperate but Misha seems to get it. Enjoy it, even. He tightens his legs around Jensen's waist and pulls him in closer. "Just think," he gasps between breathy moans. "Half a week to have sex. Jared really knows how to give the perfect gifts."

Jensen smiles and thrusts harder.

* * *

><p>The first thing Adam does when he gets back is picks a fight. He smiles when Jensen starts shouting and backs out of the kitchen where Misha is smart enough to avoid the position of mediator, settling for wrapping his arms around Jensen's shoulders when Adam is out of sight.<p>

"I'm getting sick and tired of this. If he doesn't turn back into Jake soon, I'm kicking him out."

* * *

><p>Adam bites his lip and closes his eyes. He hasn't yet unpacked. He wonders how early the next morning he can leave, and how quiet he can do so.<p>

* * *

><p>"Don't," comes a small voice as soon as his hand touches the doorknob. Adam doesn't turn around. He leans forward and lets his forehead rest against the cool wood of the door. The strap of his backpack slides on his shoulder. Floorboards creak behind him, and a gentle, anxious grip on his elbow leads him into the living room where he's placed on the couch. Misha heads into the kitchen and returns moments later with a scalding cup of coffee. "Please, I know this is hard, but the last thing we want you to do is just leave."<p>

Adam snorts and looks away, placing the coffee on the table before him without taking a sip. He folds his arms over his chest and stares at the wall like he's reading it. Hell still burns in his joints and umbrage ignites in him. What right does this man have to say that? These two, they don't even know him.

"Just...wait here. Just a minute, please." Misha hesitates, like he really expects Adam to leave while he's gone, and Adam is seriously considering it. He doesn't and is rewarded with a grumpy, frustrated, early-morning Jensen.

"Just like that? You're gonna leave?"

"I'm not sticking around just because you two are waiting for Jake to come back."

A look of guilt flashes across Jensen's features and he drops down onto the couch beside Adam closer than Adam has ever let him before. He makes to scoot over but Jensen stops him with a hand on his thigh. "Adam...I'm sorry." Something uniquely Jensen, a quality that Adam has been learning for a couple weeks now, passes between them. Everything he's said and done for the past week drops like a wall, as well as the construction of proverbial bricks that has held him up for years, from the time he was a child in Windom to here, on a comfortable couch is Los Angeles. Something passes between them that lets Jensen surge forward to kiss him, their lips fitting like well-worn gears in a very simple kiss. When they part, he looks up into Jensen's eyes. Opens his mouth to speak but is beaten to the chase. "I'm not waiting for anything."

Misha clears his throat and when they both turn to look at him, he's smiling. "Boys?"

Adam looks down at his hands in his lap and swallows anxiously. When he looks up at them, something in his eyes says _Yes_. Misha kisses him next, slower and deeper. Adam drops the backpack still hooked around an arm and pulls him closer. Jensen trails kisses down from his jaw and they wrap around him like ribbons, tying like ribbons. Two different colors, tugging at his jacket and his jeans and right there, on the couch, they take him for the first time.

And several times he has to remind them that he's still not Jake; this is his first. Jensen's eyes widen when he says it and Misha nods sagely. "Of course," they both whisper before pulling him back into the dip and folds of the couch cushions beneath them. His lips part in time for a tongue to waltz him into dizziness. His moans are muffled and his fingers feel like they're breaking under the force with which he clings to one or both of them. The open him up and let themselves in and he cries out, dropping his head onto one shoulder and then the other.

Every time he tries to reciprocate, they return his hands to their rightful place on their shoulders and their forearms and any sort of leverage he can find against the overwhelming pleasure. His orgasm, even, comes as a shock. The pulse reverberating through his body when they find theirs is even more so. He gasps, falls limply and breathes deep. For once, he feels painless.

"Say you'll stay," one or both of them say. Adam just nods and closes his eyes.

* * *

><p>Later in the afternoon, Adam unpacks. Misha pushes his hair out of his face and kisses him sweetly. Something curls in his stomach that feels like was used to be disgust. Without a second thought, he interprets it as want and returns the kiss with equal intent. Jensen pours out his abandoned cup of cold coffee and pours him a fresh one. He drinks it slowly, smiling softly and letting the warmth circulate through his body. The fever of Hellfire is replaced by the quiet comfort of domesticated living for not long enough.<p>

* * *

><p>Three and a half weeks later, Jared and Genevieve are visiting. Adam is making one of his favorite meals, an Italian dish he learned to cook when he was fourteen after perusing his mother's favorite cookbook. The wedded couple are out on the balcony and two thirds of his ménage à trois are conversing in the next room not as quietly as they think they are. With every word, he feels further numbed until the only sensation left in him in the Hell in his joints.<p>

"It's been almost two months, Misha."

"I know, but this can't last forever."

"Well, what are we supposed to do?"

"Wait it out, I guess." A heavy sigh falls like rain over him. "We can live with this. It isn't torture."

"I just...I don't know. I miss him. I don't know how much longer I can just walk around living without him."

If Adam knows anything about them, he knows in this brief lapse of silence that Misha is nodding his head, if not only to appease Jensen then to comfort himself. He finally speaks. "Just hold on. Jake's gotta be in there somewhere."


End file.
